


Under Stars

by juxtapose



Category: Star Trek, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Plotty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juxtapose/pseuds/juxtapose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Tony Stark, just kicked off the USS Expedition for mutiny, finds comfort in an ensign wandering the halls of the USS Quinjeti at 0400 hours. Southern comfort, no less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flawlessassholes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawlessassholes/gifts).



> Oh, man, did this one get away from me or what? I intended for this to be 5,000 words, tops. That certainly didn't happen! For those interested, the Star Trek lore involved in this fic is essentially a mesh of the original series, The Next Generation and the new reboot films.
> 
> This was written for the SteveTonyFest Gift Exchange on tumblr, for the lovely Zoe (aka flawlessassholes both on here and on tumblr). I hope you like it, hun, and to everyone else, enjoy!

Commander Anthony Stark shuffled toward the transporter bay, arms crossed, loudly chewing a piece of Ferengi tartberry gum. In between the popping sounds the candy made against his teeth, he could just make out the panicked voice of Lieutenant Potts behind him.

“--and you can’t just _waltz_ onto the ship like you own it, Tony; remember that. I’ve _heard_ things about Captain Fury, most of which should scare the regulation pants right off you but of course they _won’t_ \--”

“Pepper.” Stark pivoted round just before they both reached the pad, clasping his best friend’s shoulders. “Virgina Potts, light of my life, apple of my eye, _relax_. I’m getting a hernia just looking at you. It’s gonna be fine. I’ll have you with me this time, right?” He winked, prompting Pepper to roll her eyes.

“Yeah, and that’s only because I’m 99% certain Starfleet transferred me here to keep an eye on you.” She jogged a bit to keep up with Tony who was already ascending the small steps to the transporter pad. “Out of the two of us, who was the one who got kicked off the _Expedition_ due to--what was it--’not playing well with others?'”

Tony’s immediate response was to pop his gum again--right up against Pepper’s ear this time, making her wince. “Personally, I think good ol’ Captain Stane the Insane was exaggerating a bit.” The name on his tongue made the candy taste sour, and he tried not to notice Pepper noticing his discomfort.

“Energize,” he called out to the officer at the controls, and in the moments he felt the very molecules of himself dissolve, disappear, he half-wondered (as he always did) if he’d mind not emerging on the other side.

* * *

“As your captain on this voyage of exploration, I want to welcome you all to the USS _Quinjet_.” Captain Nicholas J. Fury’s voice boomed throughout the bridge and the ship’s comm system. Standing beside him at the helm, Tony wondered absently about the Captain’s fashion choices, since eyepatches had gone out of style about a century ago. Vintage.

Fury went on, “She’s equipped with up-and-coming Starfleet technology, and has just been released from a vigorous bout of testing and inspections. But she’s only as good as the people who fly her. Who care for her. And that responsibility resides with all of you.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve no doubt Starfleet has assembled a fine group of inspired individuals to represent the Federation.” He nodded once, an indication that he was finished speaking, prompting resounding replies of, “Yes, Captain,” and “Aye, sir” throughout the bridge as he sat down.

Tony found Pepper’s eyes as she sat by the Communications station, and she smiled at him reassuringly as he, too, took his seat.

Fury leaned back in the Captain’s chair, fixing Tony with one brown, narrowed eye as he greeted, “Commander Stark.”

“What d’you think we’ll find out there, Captain?” Tony mused aloud, avoiding Fury’s gaze to peer out past the helm. “I’d bet a very large amount of credits on stars. Stars will be a thing. Did you know that stars in the Delta quadrant--”

“Listen to me, Stark.” Fury spoke in a low whisper just audible enough for Tony to hear. “Do you know why you’re stationed on the _Quinjet_? Why you’re here right now?”

Tony stared down at his hands, focused on a hangnail on his left pointer finger. “I like to think my wit and charm are serious morale boosters.”

“You’re here because no one else would take you.” Fury folded his hands in his lap. “When Admiral Parker put you in for a transfer, I requested you after everyone else threw your file down the trash chute. You don’t just come back from accusing your Captain of treason--”

“I . . .” Tony cut off his Captain, feeling his face grow hot. “I’m aware of that, Sir. Starfleet has made it pretty clear. It won’t happen again.”

Awkward silence followed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a few ensigns and lieutenants staring inquisitively, as if their opinions of him were just out of reach, jumbled with whisperings and he-said-she-saids waiting to be meshed with their own discoveries of the rebellious billionaire Tony Stark who’d nearly been kicked out of Starfleet.

Well. This would be interesting.

***

_Blip. Blip blip. Blip._

It was 0400 Federation Standard Time. Tony had counted six messages in total from Pepper on his PADD, each coming with a little bleeping notification. He’d memorized the seconds between each sound as it rang through his dark quarters, a reminder he still hadn’t responded to them.

His shift on the bridge had ended ten hours ago. He was due to start another one in three.

But sleep was a foreign concept to Tony Stark now. Any attempt to close his eyes and rest resulted in the sensation of two strong hands clasped around his neck, of the dip in his stomach as he was pushed out into open, suffocating space--

He sat up in bed with a jolt, feeling beads of sweat begin to form on the back of his neck.

Well. What would it hurt to show up on the bridge three hours ahead of his shift? If anything it showed initiative (or that the _Quinjet_ ’s first officer had a serious insomnia problem, but Tony hoped his shipmates would lead toward the former assumption).

Tony changed into another pair of regulation reds, slipping on a pair of black boots and splashing his face with cold water before heading out of his rooms. He let out a long breath as he made his way down the hallway, closing his eyes.

_Just relax. Take a walk. Explore the ship a little. You’re fine. Relax. Breathe…_

He had hardly enough time to convince himself just how okay he was before all-out colliding into something. Upon opening his eyes, Tony realized it was a someone, who, holding up his tricorder as if in surrender, began to sputter:

“Ah, Commander, sir, I’m real sorry about that--I was lookin’ down at my tricorder and I wasn’t payin’ enough attention; won’t happen again, sir, I--”

“Whoa, whoa.” Tony held up his hands too. “It’s fine. It’s…” He paused, staring at the man before him. He wore security yellow, with blonde hair to match that was combed neatly in a side part. The one ring on his sleeves indicated the rank of ensign. And he was the scrawniest ensign Tony had ever seen.

The kid continued to peer up at him with big blue eyes, prompting Tony to repeat: “It’s fine. Really. I wasn’t exactly paying attention either. For some reason I thought navigating Deck 4 with my eyes closed was an awesome idea.”

This got a jittery laugh from the ensign. “S’a good way to get a real feel for the ship, sir, I’ll give ya that,” he replied. He spoke in a Southern drawl, awarding each syllable of his words with attentive annunciation. From Georgia or Tennessee or somewhere he must’ve been, Tony guessed.

For some reason, the irony of this tiny guy dressed in a security uniform intrigued Tony. He shrugged, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms. “So. What’s an ensign doing roaming the halls at 0400? Unless you’re some percentage Vulcan or Andorian or something that doesn’t need much sleep. To which I say, I’m totally jealous, and sorry if I offended--” He cut himself off with a short sigh. “This your duty shift?”

“Yes, Commander,” the kid replied, “I, uh...I like the night watch. S’quiet. Lets me think. And, uh, I’m 100% Human. I just don’t like sleepin’ much.” He trailed off in what Tony assumed was an attempt to keep the last statement pretty vague. But Tony certainly knew a thing or two about Not Sleeping.

“What’s your name?”

The ensign’s eyes widened, as if he’d left the replicator in the mess hall running. “Oh! O’course! Sorry, sir. I’m Steve Rogers.” He made a slight move to shake Tony’s hand, then seemed to regret the boldness of the gesture, letting his hand hover between them.

Tony hid a smile and closed the space between their hands by reaching out and clasping Rogers’ bony fingers. Surprisingly, the other had a very strong grip. “Good to meet you, Ensign Rogers.”

“You too, sir. A right pleasure. Couldn’t believe it when I read I’d been assigned to the _Quinjet_ under you and Cap’n Fury. S’a real honor.”

At least someone on this ship thought so. Tony tilted his head. “You just out of the Academy? How old are you?”

“Yes, sir, I’m 25. Training under Chief Coulson in Security.” His face all but glowed with excitement. Tony found that he could only half remember being that young and that enthused with the universe. “I think it’ll be good. Never been this far into space before.”

Tony watched him for a moment, standing tall in his uniform that seemed perhaps a size too big. In those few seconds Rogers gave him a burst of--hope? Motivation?--something. Something that might just fuel the belief in Tony that maybe he was supposed to be here, on this ship, for this voyage. That it would be worthwhile. The youthful passion in the other man’s expression, in his stance, practically rolling off his shoulders, was oddly inspiring. Most resounding in Tony’s mind, though, were the kid’s eyes--big, not with fear, but with wonder and a willingness to understand.

...Maybe Tony was just tired.

He reached out, clapping Rogers on the shoulder. “Well. I’ll see you around, kid. If you’re anything like the night owl I am, I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”

Rogers said, “Yes sir,” and as Tony walked past he could have sworn he heard the other add, “Hope so.”

Strangely enough, Tony kind of hoped so, too. It was nice to be able to talk to someone that wasn’t the inside of his own head at 4AM.

* * *

“I want you to make the rounds, Commander,” Fury said over a cup of coffee in his private quarters. “In the next couple of rotations, get to know the senior officers at each station. Feel out how the new ensigns are doing.” With his one visible eye, he gave Tony a significant look. “Wanna make sure we’re all on the same page here. The _Quinjet_ should operate with everyone on each other’s team, all rooting for the same cause. Exploration, and nothing more. Understood?”

 _Translation: Mutiny bad, teamwork good_ , Tony thought as he sipped on his own mug of replicated caffeine. _If I had a credit for the amount of times I’ve heard that one at court hearings…_

“You got it, Captain,” he replied.

So for the next week or so, his job was to wander and observe. He checked out Communications, where Pepper unsurprisingly shone in her ability to hold up under pressure and speak a plethora of alien languages (sometimes simultaneously). He perused Command central, learning the names of every officer with whom he would be working regardless of shift. He buddied up with Dr. Banner in Medbay who, Tony learned from some of the junior officers, had quite the temper for such a seemingly collected individual.

And then he went to Deck 5, the home of Security Operations.

“How’s it going down here, Chief?” he inquired of Mr. Coulson (who insisted upon their first meeting that Tony call him ‘Phil,’ though Tony could never seem to remember his name). He glanced around, watching various officers of all levels busy at work. “Seems like Starfleet’s recent overhaul of security protocol is keeping everyone on their toes.”

Coulson nodded. “Sure is, Commander. We’re actually testing out some prototype breach sensors right now. Figuring out where it’s best to put them strategically. I have a few ensigns on that.”

Tony followed the Chief’s gaze to find three ensigns with their backs to him, huddled around a large holographic map of the _Quinjet_ , drawn to the tiniest detail. Tony quirked his brow in pleasant surprise.

He pointed. “That’s really impressive. Did somebody here draw that up?”

“Oh, yeah. Ensign, uh--Rogers, I think his name is.”

Sure enough, Tony could just make out the kid leaning over a table to the far left, reaching up with a bony hand to outline something on the projection he’d sketched. He caught a flash of neat blonde hair, and the light eyes, even in such a crowded space, were unmissable.

Tony trailed his eyes down Rogers’ lean frame, then back up again, looked on as he diligently worked. The other ensigns around him kept darting their eyes toward Tony nervously, as Tony himself remembered doing when he was their age upon noticing a senior officer in the room. But Rogers seemed so entranced with what he was doing--blowing up more prototypes for a larger view, analyzing the architecture of the ship in relation--that he didn’t seem to notice at all.

“. . . Sir?”

Tony did not tear away his gaze from the scene before him. “Hmm?”

“I said, does everything look okay to you?” Coulson repeated, giving him a curious look.

“It looks great.” He blinked at the sudden recognition of the inappropriate nature of his intonation, and cleared his throat. “Good. Good. Everything looks good.” He clapped Coulson on the back before sauntering over to the cluster of ensigns.

Tony tried to hide his amusement at the utterly petrified gazes of each ensign upon his walk forward.

All petrified except _Rogers_ , who half-turned away from what he was doing and--of all things--waved. “Howdy, Commander!”

The ensign beside him--a young woman with long, dark hair, looked at her fellow crewman incredulously, as if to say, _Are you insane?!_

Tony nodded at him seriously. “Looks like you all are doing awesome work here to keep the ship safe.”

He received intimidated mutterings of, “Thank you, sir,” and variations thereof. As Tony started to turn away, though, he noticed two of the other ensigns--taller, larger men to Steve’s right--lift their hands and shove him, right in the center of his chest.

“You trying to get a leg up, or something?” he heard one of them snap, “you can’t buddy up with Commander Stark. Know your place.”

Rogers staggered back a little, then glared up at them with a fierceness Tony certainly hadn’t been expecting from such a scrawny kid.

Well. The guy could hold his own; that was for sure. But something jolted inside Tony, in the pit of his stomach, telling him maybe two heads were better than one on this one. Especially if one of them was the XO.

He turned fully around again, facing the group. “For the record, Ensign,” he said, drawing out the syllables, “Commander Stark can ‘buddy up’ with whomever he so chooses. Treat your fellow crewmen with respect. You’re pretty much stuck with ‘em.” He did not give a moment’s pause for the bulky Ensign to stammer an apology, for he was already gesturing to the ship schematics. “Great architectural scope, there. Keep it up, Rogers.”

And then he winked.

Rogers said nothing at all in reply. He just peered at Stark with a wide, appreciative grin. An ear-to-ear, dimple-donning smile that Tony figured fluffy rabbits were made of, or possibly unicorns.

Tony found himself smiling back, since Rogers’ was weirdly contagious.

He made a line for the turbolift before he realized his face was burning. As the lift ascended, he lifted a hand to his scorching face, thinking of the grin on Rogers’.

...What the _fuck_?

* * *

A few weeks passed, and Tony, busy with running the bridge when Fury was off duty and trying to get a sense of his fellow crew members, barely had a millisecond to think about the scrawny little ensign with the big eyes. Not only that, but he hadn’t seen the kid at all since his visit to Security. And just when Tony was beginning to wonder why he even cared, why it mattered that he even saw this kid again, he found himself wandering the halls at 0400 again when sleep only led him to a screaming loop of his own nightmares.

This time, Ensign Rogers was completely attentive to the space around him, head turning this way and that, as if he was looking for something in the hall. When his eyes landed on Tony, his face brightened. “Evenin’, Commander! Or should I say g’morning?”

“Either or. I think we’re kind of stuck in the vortex that lies between,” Tony joked, nodding to him. “How’s it going?”

“S’going, sir.” Rogers walked up to Tony, grinning. “I was actually wonderin’ where you’ve been.” At Tony’s quirked eyebrow, he amended quickly: “Meaning, I hadn’t seen you around during my late shift, that’s all. ‘Til now, o’course.”

“Right. Well. Y’know. Insomnia doesn’t really have a schedule, and unfortunately, commanding a starship does. Our latest encounter with the Fyliir’in people was a complete trainwreck.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I mean, who knew wearing shoes was a thing they found offensive?”

He started walking, Rogers scurrying along beside him as he replied, “I reckon the Captain views it as a...learnin’ experience. Not to mention the crew took off their shoes so quick to please the Head Councilman, everyone’s shoes got all mixed up. I got friends in Ops who are still tryin’ to find theirs!”

Tony chuckled. “Sounds about right. Federation diplomacy can sometimes cost you a shoe or two.”

“Do you believe in it, sir?” Rogers asked after a beat.

“Hmm?”

“I mean, in what the Federation is tryin’ to do. With exploration missions like these. ‘Seek out new life and new civilizations,’ all that.” Rogers certainly didn’t skimp out on the big questions, Tony thought with slight amusement.

He shrugged. “I think the Federation has a lot of admirable goals that we should be able to spread and help shape other planets, help them help us discover their potential. If they’re willing.” He thought of Stane, briefly, and sniffed. “Of course, there are people within the Federation who are just in it for all the power and the glory of discovering something new. It’s all about your motivations, I think. Doing the right thing, or whatever.”

“Sure,” agreed Rogers. He smiled a bit, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “I can think of a few people on this ship who might need a lesson or two in doin’ the right thing.”

This gave Tony pause. He stopped in his tracks, turned to face Rogers. “What do you mean? As Commanding Officer it’s sorta my job to ask. Y’know. Running staff evals and all that exciting stuff.”

Rogers’ expression suddenly fell, and he shook his head. “It’s, uh. It’s nothin’, Commander. Really.”

“Which obviously means it’s something.” Tony narrowed his eyes, put on his best Intimidation Face, and waited. Sure enough, Rogers let out a sigh and replied:

“Well, sir...you know. Bein’ in Security and all, most of the other ensigns are pretty damn big and strong. It ain’t exactly common to be...well...to be my size, an’ be able to keep the ship safe.” Tony could not deny he had thought the same on multiple occasions.

“Me?” Rogers went on. “I’m just good with understanding database breaches. Gettin’ one look at the architecture of a starship and havin’ it memorized for years. But I guess those skills are...valued a bit less among my… _peers_. If hadn’t you noticed already.” He said the word with an emphasis Tony could only describe as resentment, and he thought of his observation on the security deck a few weeks back. “It ain’t fun, being picked on all the time. But I don’t see the real point in complainin’ about it, sir. S’not worth it, you know? It’s like you said, about motivations. They just aren’t the right kinda people for Starfleet. Just up to the Captain to recognize that, is all.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes those kinds of people stick around for a lot longer than they should.” Tony tried to find Rogers’ eyes again. The blue had dulled ever so slightly. And for some reason, a humming, thrumming motivation bubbled up in Tony to bring that glow back.

“Listen, Ensign,” he said. “Regardless of all that--don’t ever let anyone convince you you’re less capable than they are. They might have the muscles, but the key--” He lightly tapped the left side of Rogers’ chest with the back of his hand, felt the boniness there. “--is to have heart. Sounds to me like you’ve got that.”

It sounded like bullshit. It would have been bullshit, too, if Tony hadn’t actually _meant_ it...which he did. Weirdly enough.

Rogers nodded, smiling a bit. “Glad to hear you say that, sir.”

“I mean, I could always fire them all, too. If you wanted. But if I fired everyone who pissed me off there’d be no one left on the ship. Dunno if that’d look too good on my record.”

This elicited a full-out laugh from the ensign this time, and the spark was back. Tony felt an irrational relief wash over him. “So,” he said, figuring it was best to change the subject. “Where are you from, anyway? I’m gonna take a wild guess and say decidedly _not_ California.”

“Suburbs of Sandy Springs, Georgia, sir. Born and raised. And you?”

“Oh, I’m a New York City guy.”

“The city? Damn. And I thought San Francisco was an adjustment…”

And just like that, they were roaming the ship together, following Rogers’ patrol path, weaving their way in and out of different decks and labs and exploring the brand spanking new Starfleet facilities. Tony found himself completely relaxed around this person he’d only just met--the Southern accent seeming oddly comforting, familiar, wrapping around Tony like when he used to drink hot chocolate with his mom as a kid around Christmas.

Before Tony knew it, it was 0700, and he was already running late for his shift on the bridge. Rogers seemed to sense this, for he slowed his steps near the turbolift, turning to peer up at him. “Well, sir. I s’pose I’d better try and get some shuteye.”

“You do that.” Tony himself, now that he thought of it, was pretty tired, too. For the first time in months, his bed sounded quite appealing. “I’m gonna, uh. Gonna head up to the bridge.”

For a moment, neither man moved. Rogers shuffled his feet a bit, and Tony, as he painstakingly reached to touch the turbolift button, realized he very much did not want to leave.

And once _that_ thought smacked his consciousness upside the head, his face started getting all hot and--oh, shit, was he blushing? Again?!

Tony cleared his throat, averting Rogers’ stare by quickly exiting into the turbolift, relieved when the doors swished shut.

Only when he stepped onto the bridge to greet the crew did he fully understand that he’d found a proper cure for his insomnia, in the form of a person with a Southern drawl.

* * *

Now that Tony Stark had something to do other than analyze the horrific images of his own nightmares in the early morning, he found himself waking up automatically at around 0400.

And, fine. Maybe he’d take the same route around the ship every night, just so he could maybe happen to sort of run into Steve Rogers on his patrol shift. I mean, it wasn’t his fault that his body was getting used to the idea of waking up so early.

Right?

“So, I know most ensigns are pretty much stuck with them from the get-go, but I gotta ask.” They were strolling past the mess hall, Rogers typing this and that into his tricorder while Tony mused aloud. “Why did you actually offer yourself up for the sacrificial ritual that is the Night Shift?”

Rogers chuckled. “Like I said, I...I don’t really sleep much.”

“Do you just, like, power yourself down or something? Is there an off-switch on you that I’m missing?” Rogers laughed again as Tony pretended to look him over with scrutiny.

“No, sir. I guess I should rephrase: I don’t like sleepin.’ Not really.”

“That’s weird,” Tony commented, as if it were not the precise reason why he himself was awake at this hour, “Why not?”

The blonde shrugged, staring down at the floor. “Gives me too much time to think, is all. Just before I joined Starfleet, I lost my momma. Brain cancer, just before the medicinal cure came out.” Before Tony could awkwardly offer up some words of sympathy, Rogers waved a hand. “It’s all right, sir. Really. Just, uh. S’hard not to think about everythin’ you’ve lost, when you’re lyin’ awake at night an’ in the dark it feels like you’ve even lost the light.”

Tony thought of his parents and said, simply, “I get that.”

"And then--" Rogers cut himself off, a little grin ghosting along the edges of his face. It was a different sort of smile from him than Tony was accustomed to. "You don't wanna hear about all this, sir. I'm sorry."

"No, I..." Tony stopped short, disrupting the rhythm in their usual side-by-side stroll. "I do. Honest. Lay it on me. I mean, what else do you talk about at..." He peered down at his PADD, which he found he rarely ever needed to fiddle with out of boredom when he was with Rogers. "...0530 hours?"

Rogers bit his lip, looked down at the floor. "It...it happened a while ago now. Goin' on four years. But, uh. It's a little ridiculous, sir, if you don't mind my frankness, to join Starfleet and expect not to lose anyone close to you. It's the price you gotta pay for the goal of interplanetary understanding." He talked as though he were made of the very stuff that Starfleet was, and Tony wasn't sure if he resented Rogers for it, or felt entirely too much the opposite.

"Bucky." The name on Rogers' lips made his heartache tangible. "He was a tactical officer on a battle ship, fighting the Romulans. He was my..." He trailed off, cleared his throat. "We were best friends pretty much all our lives. And then one day he was just...gone."

Tony shook his head slowly. The kid was half Tony's age and had already been through one hell of a lot. "I'm sorry, Ensign," he offered, lamely.

Rogers shrugged. “So. My way of copin’ was to...head out to the stars, I guess. Makes me feel closer to where Momma and Bucky are, or to...where there’s somethin' more than what Earth’s got to offer, y’know?” He outstretched his arms. “I like to believe the universe is full of hundreds o’ thousands o’ possibilities to grow an’ learn. There’s so much I haven’t seen. I wanna see it all, if I can.”

There was that relentless determination again. “That’s admirable, Ensign. A real Starfleet attitude,” replied Tony. He forced down a bitter laugh. “Starfleet’s let me down a lot lately. Which is, like, the least awesome thing for the First Officer of a Starfleet vessel to be saying, I know. But, uh…Maybe there’s hope for it yet.”

 _Where the fuck did that come from?_ Tony fought the instinct to turn to the wall and repeatedly bang his head against it. His biggest problem, according to Rhodey and Pepper and most people who knew him, was that he didn’t really have a filter when it came to his opinions. Being too forward, too open had always been Tony Stark’s issue. It had let Stane bring him down to begin with.

Rogers didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he appeared to be showcasing quite the opposite reaction from what Tony had expected. “That means a lot, Commander,” he said sincerely.

He was smiling, a dazed, frankly goofy expression on his face until his tricorder beeped a third time in a row, snapping him out of it. Tony fought a laugh.

Rogers checked whatever it was the tricorder was indicating, brow furrowed. Tony watched him.

He cleared his throat and said, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“I gotta go check on a replicator password system in Deck 9.” He turned, and just as he was beginning to walk past Tony, “But if you have trouble sleepin’...” Suddenly, his voice had dipped an octave lower, his eyes dark. “Comm me and I’d be happy to help distract.”

He left Tony a luminescent, fiery red blob in the hallway. _A tiny ensign is openly flirting with me. A stupid Security ensign wearing too-big clothes is flirting with me._

Tony felt a combination of wanting to scream with rage and wanting to charge after the kid, who sauntered down the hall like he’d just won a beauty pageant.

So much for all that wit and charm. Tony was being one-upped.

(And he kind of liked it.)

* * *

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
So. Steve Rogers from Georgia, huh? Am I being replaced?

 **PADD MESSAGE from STARK, ANTHONY E (XO)**  
Jesus, Pepper. Are you stalking me again?

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
I only stalk you when necessary. Even when that’s most always.

 **PADD MESSAGE from STARK, ANTHONY E (XO)**  
Hardy har.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
We’re on a starship, Tony. Word gets around fast. Plus, it’s been nearly a week and a half since you’ve buzzed my door at 3AM for a late night holomovie sesh. Anyway, I’m glad you’re making nice with the new guys. First Officers are supposed to, and rarely do.

 **PADD MESSAGE from STARK, ANTHONY E (XO)**  
Yeah, um. Well. I’m mostly just making nice with him. Only him.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
Oh.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
Wait. OH! Like...that kind of ‘making nice’? OH!!!

 **PADD MESSAGE from STARK, ANTHONY E (XO)**  
Calm yourself, O Crazy One. It’s nothing. He’s just...okay to talk to, is all.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
I can’t wait to tell Rhodey you’ve made a new friend. He’ll be so proud of you.

 **PADD MESSAGE from STARK, ANTHONY E (XO)**  
Shut up. Also go away, I’m trying to write up a report on today’s away mission.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
Keep me posted :)

 **PADD MESSAGE from STARK, ANTHONY E (XO)**  
Not if you’re going to stalk me anyway.  <3

* * *

During the lull of the gamma shift, Tony was at the conn while Captain Fury handled a conference call with Vulcan representatives, when he heard the bridge entry doors slide open.

“Ensign Rogers reporting, sir.” The unmistakable voice filled the room, and Tony whirled around in the Captain’s chair perhaps a bit too abruptly.

 _Play it cool, Stark_. “Good afternoon, Ensign. To what do I owe the pleasure of you nearly causing me whiplash?”

Rogers very much looked like he was trying to hide a smirk as he took a few steps forward, standing at attention directly in front of Tony. “A message for you, sir.”

“And you couldn’t deliver the message over the comm system?” Tony leaned back, brow wiggling--subtly, just once--in waiting for Steve’s response.

Steve blinked, a pinkish hue tinting his pale face. “Uhm...well. I sure could’ve, Commander.” He cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back, and finished, with more confidence than Tony could even pretend to muster: “I just wanted an excuse to ask you to dinner personally.”

Tony heard a tiny giggle from Pepper’s station. He saw in his peripheral vision a few heads turn, and he cleared his throat. Geez, this kid had balls. He said, “Does Chief Coulson know you’re here?”

“No, Commander.”

“So you left your post?”

“Yes, Commander. But I have only nine minutes until my break, sir.”

Tony couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, and he lifted a hand to stroke his face to hide it. “Well. I won’t let your rebellious efforts go to waste,” he said, with every attempt at indifference he could muster, “Meet in the mess at, say, 1930 hours?”

“My quarters,” replied Steve firmly. Then, he added, slightly more meekly, “Sir. If that’s agreeable to you.”

Tony shook his head incredulously, simultaneously murmuring, “Yeah. Agreeable. Uh-huh. See you then.”

Rogers nodded once and bolted back to the turbolift in what seemed like one fluid motion, evidently trying his best to ignore the stares from the bridge crew that followed him out.

Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands. “Increase to warp 4, Mister James,” he called to the helmsman in an attempt to break the now extremely awkward silence.

He shook his head again despite himself. This was so not Starfleet protocol.

(Not that Tony did a very good job of following that, anyway.)

* * *

Steve Rogers’ quarters were tiny.

It wasn’t as if Tony had expected anything else, since he remembered being a punky little ensign on the USS _Starsearcher_ with three guys to a room. It was how he’d met one of his best friends, Rhodey, though, and they had been close ever since.

Steve’s roommate, whoever he was, was mysteriously (conveniently?) absent when Steve led him into his quarters. “Sorry it’s a little...compact in here, sir--”

“You can call me Tony, you know,” Stark interjected, smiling a bit--with...was it affection?--as he watched Steve scurry around to neaten up the place. “And I'll call you Steve. Deal? I’m gonna go out on a limb and say formalities are kind of silly at this--wait, is that garlic?” He sniffed the air, the scent of food no replicator could possibly create wafting through the room.

Steve nodded, shrugged a bit, made his way over to the sink near the bathroom where plates of food were waiting, from what Tony’s sense of smell could tell. “On our last Starbase stop I picked up a few ingredients,” he said as he clattered around a bit, “S’the reason I asked you here, si--Tony. Why have replicated food in the mess when you can get the real deal?”

Tony made himself comfortable, taking a seat at the small table beside the bunk beds. “And he cooks, too. Be still my heart.” The words were said in jest, but when Steve looked back at him, seeming to sweep his blue eyes over Tony, perhaps they carried much more meaning than Tony could have imagined.

“Can I get you a drink?” he inquired as he finished preparing...whatever it was they both were about to consume.

Tony replied, “Just water’s fine. Booze and I parted a while ago. Rough break-up.”

“Sure thing.” Tony could hear the buzz of the replicator doing its thing, and in a few moments, Steve was balancing two plates (proper plates, not trays, the classiness of it all) on one arm and holding two glasses of water in the other. Tony could not help but let his gaze wander up and down Steve’s lanky frame and the control he exerted with it.

Placed before Tony was a delectable-looking shrimp scampi dish, the likes of which Tony hadn’t seen since his last lengthy stay on Earth. “Holy shit. Did you _make_ this?”

Steve shrugged, sitting down across from Tony. “It’s nothin’ really. Always had to cook for myself and my momma when I was young. We couldn’t afford to go out much, get the latest replicators.”

Tony nodded, thinking how despite the fact that he’d had a few lengthy conversations with this guy, he still didn’t know very much about him. And he wanted to. So he piped up, around his first bite of pasta: “What was it like growing up in Georgia?”

“Oh, real nice. Quiet most of the time, we lived just enough outside the city that nobody really bothered us. It was just Momma and me, so.”

Tony took a sip of water. “And your dad?”

“He died when I was a kid.”

Tony stared down at his food. The kid had lost both his parents and still managed to put on a smile everyday. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Steve replied reassuringly, “It was a long time ago.”

“Well.” Tony slowly raised his eyes again. God, he hated talking about feelings. He’d been here all of ten Standard minutes and feelings were already involved; this must have been some kind of record. “I kinda know how that is. My folks died when I was seventeen. Shuttle crash.”

And there those big blue eyes were again, this time full of concern. “That must have been real hard on you.” Steve leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table, hands flat, palms-up, as if opening themselves up in case Tony needed them.

Tony clenched his fists tightly and resisted. This was just dinner, dammit. No need to get all touchy about it.

“How’s the food?” Goddammit, those _eyes_...

“Amazing,” Tony blurted, because shit, it was. Kid knew how to cook, if anything.

He sighed. “Sorry for the total mood kill there, before.”

“I reckon it just shows we have something in common,” Steve said, because for some reason from what Tony could tell he liked to look at the positive side of everything. “So,” he went on to change the subject, “did you always want to command a starship?”

“Fuck no,” Tony retorted, perhaps too quickly, making Steve chuckle, “How I managed to go from graduating the Academy with a specialization in engineering to co-manning an entire ship of over-excited 22-year-olds is beyond me.”

Steve sipped his drink and replied, evenly, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a fine job. Captain Fury seems to think so too.”

Tony smiled, albeit with slight bitterness. “You seem to have an almost stupid amount of faith in me,” he said. “Why?”

Steve frowned. “I don’t think it’s stupid.” He popped a piece of shrimp into his mouth. “I don’t pay much attention to the newspods, but I do know you got near kicked outta Starfleet for defying your captain’s orders. I reckon that’s pretty hard to come back from. But you did. I think if someone makes a statement that big, it’s gotta be for a good reason.”

Tony paused, watching Steve for a moment. He didn’t seem to be lying, or mocking Tony--on the contrary, he genuinely seemed to believe the words he spoke. “‘Good reason,’ huh? That’s the first I’m hearing of someone looking at my decision that way.”

“My momma always said to look for the good in people before you start siftin’ through for the bad,” was Steve’s simple reply. An odd combination of innocence and wisdom seemed to accompany every word he spoke. Tony, fifteen years Steve’s senior, had not acquired either of those qualities by 25. He was also pretty sure he didn’t have them now, either.

“You’re all right, Steve,” Tony remarked cheekily, taking another sip of water. “For an ensign.”

“Well, golly, you’re a charmer, sir,” quipped Steve. Tony didn’t even bother trying to hide a smile. Steve took Tony’s empty plate, asking, “How do you feel about peach pie?”

“Sounds awesome.” Tony stood as well. “Let me, uh. Let me help you this time. Or at least pretend to, like a good guest.”

Steve grinned, nodding. “If you like.”

So Tony followed Steve into the cramped space where he’d created his little makeshift kitchen. Scattered ingredients lay everywhere, utensils lying this way and that. Tony offered to dry the dishes as they were spat out of the washing tube, while Steve prepared the pie.

Tony stood behind Steve, reaching for a cloth towel, and in doing so, brushed Steve’s hand as the other adjusted the trash chute settings. There was a slight gruffness to the pads of his fingers, like that of a man who spent a lot of time brushing charcoal around on a canvas.

“Sorry,” Tony said sheepishly, and then mentally hit himself for it, because why was he being sheepish? At the Academy he scored every guy and gal he wanted, scored every on-ship fling he could have dreamed of, and an ensign was reducing him to _this_?

Steve chuckled, but there was a shakiness to it. “S’what you get for tryin’ to make a kitchen out of a bathroom hallway.”

“Yeah…” Tony moved his hand to the left just as Steve was reaching for a fork on the right…

And then Steve latched on. Tony’s mouth dropped open despite himself, as the other weaved the fingers of his right hand through Tony’s, guiding Tony’s arm to wrap around Steve’s middle.

Tony felt his heart thumping erratically in his chest, and knew Steve could feel it too, as they pressed up against each other. Steve’s back was bony, but firm, and Tony found himself tracing his fingers under and up Steve’s uniform shirt, teasing at his belly. “So,” he said, gruffly, “Close quarters has definitely taken on a new mean--”

Suddenly, Steve let go of Tony’s hand, and just when Tony was about to do something ridiculous like protest, he whipped around and crushed his lips against Tony’s, pushing his fingers into Tony’s hair.

Tony gasped into the kiss, alarmed by the strength of this person who was half his size. The surprise melted into desire as quickly as it had come, however, as Steve slammed Tony back into the opposite wall, pinning him there on either side with skinny arms.

 _Oh, he wants to play it like that, huh?_ Tony growled, grabbing Steve’s waist with both hands and taking him forward, grinding their hips together and closing any remaining space between their bodies.

Steve groaned, thrusting his hips upward. Tony could feel his hardness through the fabric of both their trousers, rousing excitement and need in the pit of his stomach, fluttering through his whole body.

He broke the electric contact of their lips, briefly, to question: “Bed?”

“Uh-huh,” was Steve’s loquacious agreement. He roughly took Tony by both hands and led him out of the cramped hallway back into the main room.

“Please tell me you’re the bottom bunk,” Tony murmured between kisses to Steve’s neck.

Steve said again, “Uh- _huh_ ,” and they both tumbled onto the neatly-made mattress, Steve straddling Tony’s hips, blonde hair tousled and pupils large. Tony scrambled to remove his Command clothing and undershirt as Steve helped pull down Tony’s trousers.

When Tony reached up toward the fabric of Steve’s shirt to return the favor, Steve lowered himself to Tony, pressing a long, languid kiss to his lips. Tony’s consciousness buzzed, his body reeled, he arched his neck as Steve pressed little bites and kisses from his jaw to his collarbone, and--

Wait. Why was he the only one completely naked?

“Mmm,” he articulated dumbly, carding the fingers of his left hand through Steve’s hair, “Clothes?” He used his free hand to tug playfully at the other’s waistband.

Steve sat up a little again, biting his lip, nodding once. Tony allowed himself this moment to catch his breath, to register that this was actually happening, as he took in the sight of Steve’s long, winding torso, the arch of his back...

But as Steve finally removed his shirt and trousers, a violent red began to creep up on his neck and face, and he avoided Tony’s eyes. _Shit_ , Tony thought, amazed at his own ignorance, _he’s embarrassed._

“I, uh…” Steve fumbled with his words, the most vulnerable Tony had ever seen him. “When I was a kid, I was sick a lot...and…” He trailed off, all but gluing his gaze to the mattress.

Tony shifted forward, lifting a hand to catch Steve’s chin under his pointer finger, guiding his head to face Tony. “Hey. Look at me.”

Steve did, and his eyes were wet, and Tony wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything in the world, to smooth out every jagged edge of this man’s mind. “Don’t...don’t do that, okay? You’re…” He leaned forward, slipping his free arm around Steve’s waist to brace him, dipping him low to the mattress and letting his gaze wander up and down the other’s body. “You’re fucking beautiful. That’s what I thought the second I saw you roaming around Deck 4 at whatever-the-hell-o’clock the first week here. And nothing’s gonna change my mind. I’m a stubborn guy when I wanna be. Got it?”

Steve reached up, tangling his hands in Tony’s hair again and tugging him forward, causing Tony to brace himself with his arms on either side of Steve’s torso. Tony hissed as their naked cocks brushed each other. “Got it,” Steve breathed, before locking his lips with Tony’s again.

No words were needed after that.

Tony had seen all the silly holovids, had heard his classmates back at the Academy fawn obsessively over relationships and ever-afters. And Tony, for all his romantic and sexual prowess, realized as he came with a tremored gasp against Steve’s warm, alabaster skin that only now did he understand what it felt like.

This was not like the fling with Jaylynn Atkinson his first semester at Starfleet, all sticky sweat and hiding in closets after Xenobiology class. This was not like the time he’d managed to seduce his way into the Chief of Operations’ bed during his second tour as a Lieutenant on a starship.

This was Steve’s ability to fit perfectly into every crevice of Tony’s body, and Tony in his. This was Tony’s pulse in a frenzy at the mere lazy touch of long, thin fingers on his own skin. This was real, and raw, and honest, and different.

 _Well, fuck me_ , Tony thought in a haze, dipped low under the covers and pressing his lips to the inside of Steve’s thigh. _I think I’m in love._

* * *

After, they lie a mess of sheets and limbs in the tiny cot. Steve was sprawled across Tony, as the latter traced non-shapes along the ups and downs of his back. When a few minutes had passed, silent but for the sound of two men trying to catch their breath, Tony had to ask:

“So...where the hell _is_ your roommate?”

Steve burst into a fit of chuckles, lifting his head slightly to place a kiss to Tony’s jaw. “Todd’s got a girl. Betazoid nurse in Medical. He brings her back to our place all the time, so I figured he owed me one.”

“Oh, really? So you knew you’d be taking me to bed, huh?”

Burying his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, Steve’s muffled reply was, “...Maybe.”

It was Tony’s turn to laugh. “You sly dog.” He kissed the top of Steve's head, unsure how to approach what he knew was a touchy subject. "Was, um...was that guy you mentioned--Bucky...was he your...?" He trailed off. _Smooth, Stark._

Steve sighed, his breath hot against Tony's skin. "Oh, yeah. You guessed it. Lieutenant James Buchanan Barnes, my first. Thought he would be my only." He did not sound sad, or bitter. Only nostalgic.

Tony nodded. "So this...this is the first time since then that you've..."

"Uh-huh." Steve stretched a bit, like a feline, curling himself around Tony's body. "I've just been waitin' around."

"For what?"

"Bucky inspired me. He was just that kinda charismatic person, you know? I didn't think I'd ever find somethin' or someone to make me feel like I was worth somethin' again, that I could make a difference, the way he did. Someone else who understood the monsters in the universe, to remind me I wasn't alone in knowin' them all so well." He looked up, chin resting on Tony's shoulder. "I guess I was waitin' for you."

Tony was silent, rendered entirely speechless, able to only run his fingers gently along the ridges and edges of Steve's back. He realized then, as he held Steve close to his chest, that the affection he felt for the scrawny kid from Georgia was a wildfire kind of affection, one that had begun with a small spark and then spread so rapidly that it was no longer in Tony’s control.

And he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

* * *

Commander Tony Stark was a goner.

It wasn’t that Steve and Tony weren’t allowed to carry on a romantic relationship on-ship--it was just kind of frowned upon (“emotional compromise” wasn’t even the half of it). Of course, Tony couldn’t recall the last time he gave into something being ‘frowned upon,’ so there was that. So they carried on, and stole kisses in the turbolift, and did all the things in public that were not-totally-against-protocol-but-pretty-much, and Steve would beam when Tony would lead him to the Senior Officers’ section of the mess to sit, and that smile was all it took to keep Tony himself grinning like an idiot all damn day.

A total goner. Not that he’d admit it outright.

But they were careful all the same, wary of Fury’s watchful eye, only engaging in open displays of affection in the privacy of their own quarters. Thursdays were Tony and Pepper’s ‘Date Night,’ a tradition they’d established years prior at the Academy in which one of them cooked dinner (sometimes poorly-made, if it was Tony) and watched a universally terrible holofilm. Pepper, being Pepper Potts, decided it would be a great idea to invite Steve along as well, much to Tony’s embarrassment (for no one could harass a man about his romantic exploits like his best friend).

Steve and Pepper got along great, sometimes tag-teaming in exchanging woeful tales of Tony’s inability to do his own laundry, cook, clean, or exist as a functional person.

Tony hated it, in a way that meant he felt exactly the opposite.

It wasn’t uncommon for Steve to fall asleep curled up into Tony’s chest halfway through the weekly holofilm, the long, late shifts wearing him out easily. Tony would absently stroke his hair, and Pepper would mostly watch them instead of the film.

“You are stupidly in love,” she said once, grinning.

Tony stuck out his tongue. “Shut up. _You’re_ stupid.”

All the same, he didn’t refute her statement.

* * *

The night Steve finally asked about it, they were sitting side by side on the empty Observation Deck, Steve resting his head on Tony’s shoulder as clusters of stars flew by at Warp 5. “What happened, Tone?”

“To the trend of having sex on the Observation Deck? No idea. Maybe we should put it right-- _ow_.”

Steve elbowed him in the ribs. “Shuddup. I meant with Stane. Before you got transferred here.”

Tony began to concentrate on one of the four constellations spread before them, silent for a while. Steve whispered, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I…” Tony sighed. “You should know. Only it’s...kind of a long story.”

“I got all night, darlin’,” Steve teased, leaning up to peck a kiss to Tony’s cheek.

Tony fixated his gaze on a particular star--one with a blueish tint to it, like Steve’s eyes. He tried to channel his emotion into it, tried to speak with as much evenness and nonchalance as possible, despite the lacerations in his mind the memories caused. “Stane and I have a long history. He was really close with my dad even when I was growing up. When my dad died, Stane was given charge of his weapons company that works directly with Starfleet. Building defense mechanisms for shuttles and ships, all that.”

“Stark Industries.” Steve nodded. “O’course.”

“Yeah. Well. He took over until I was of age, and then he became kind of my advisor, and we had joint authority over the company. Convinced me to join up in _Starfleet_. I was into engineering. Wanted to help create the coolest battleships Starfleet had ever seen.”

He felt Steve squeeze his hand. “And then?”

“And then. Well. The goal of the _Expedition_ ’s mission was to explore the environmental make-up of previously undiscovered planets to see if they could be useful to us technologically. Stane appointed me as First Officer once I’d worked my way up. What I didn’t know was that while I’d been moving from ship to ship gaining rank, he’d been gaining rank with the company. Making friends with some not so nice folk. The kind who believe the only way to keep the Federation in power is to wage war, with cloaked weaponry not admissible by Starfleet regulations.”

Steve shook his head. “Ruinin’ Starfleet from the inside,” he murmured with resentment. “How’d you find out?”

“Accessed Stane’s computer database when bringing up a prototype. It was…” Tony lifted his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “There was footage of...of people--I mean, y’know, life forms, on other planets, being blown to bits. Being used as...as test subjects, and they had no idea. Testing weapons that were made from Stark materials. My stuff. My tech. Killing all those…”

He gulped down the thick guilt that always came up, like bile, in his throat. He felt Steve kiss his hand and whisper, “I’m so sorry, darlin’. You couldn’t have known.”

“The newspods will tell you I defied Captain Obidiah Stane’s orders to officiate landing parties taking soil samples of the planet M-x241,” Tony forced himself to continue, “which is true. What the media won’t mention is that I knew, for a fact, that Stane was going to use the planet’s resources, the rare elements exxetron and vibranium, to create some seriously dangerous weapons.”

He finally let himself meet Steve’s eyes. As he expected, they were full of a determined passion. “I’m not talking torpedoes, here, Steve. I’m talking explosives that would probably contribute to another Klingon War. The last thing we need, right?

“So I tried to stop him. Accused him, publicly. Tried to get the crew to back me up, but obviously duty told them to side with the captain. No fault of theirs; it’s just the way things are. I was charged with mutiny, and Stane, being higher-up than I am and being ridiculously good at covering his tracks, was let off. So I...I left. Thought it would make a statement, cause a ruckus. But it really just got my ass kicked, complete with an almost-court martial. Politics are stupid.”

“So…” Steve sighed, running his fingers along the palm of Tony’s hand. “Stane is still out there, working on weapons, right now?”

“Yeah. I…” Tony paused, felt a shudder run down his spine. “I know he needs to be stopped. Haunts me every fucking day. I just don’t think anyone would believe me right now if I said it.”

Steve simply slipped his arm around Tony’s waist, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “I do.”

Tony pressed a kiss into his hair. “That’s more than enough.”

“Is it?” Steve sat up fully, brow furrowed. “Maybe you should talk to the Captain about it. After all, he’s got to’ve seen the good in you, Tony, if he wanted you here--”

“It’s not that simple,” Tony interjected, surprised by the sharpness of his own tone. But Steve, in his typical fashion, refused to back down:

“Isn’t it? Maybe he can do somethin’. Stane’s only as good as his rank, and--”

“There are people dying, Steve. Stane’s killing them and gets away with it because he knows people. His court marshalling me was a threat. He’s bound to do something bigger and hurt even more people if I try to call him out again now, when he’s got the upper hand. It’s a lose-lose situation.”

Steve shook his head slowly. “I won’t believe that. The Federation is about fairness and equality. ‘Least, it should be.”

Tony kissed Steve’s temple, and wished he could find within himself the optimism that accompanied youth.

When the nightmares came that night, Steve was there, smoothing the worry and sweat from Tony’s brow, and it was okay. As long as Steve remained, Tony thought, pushing the terrors out of his mind with kisses and touches and whispers, it would be okay enough.

* * *

Tony remembered an expression his dad used to say: “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

Frankly, as a child, Tony never had any idea what to make of a saying about poultry, especially in terms of its apparent relation to holding out on a good thing before it happens. But now, what with Tony banking on _eventually_ moving on from what happened with Stane, relying on Steve to help him through it, the meaning of the phrase would become abundantly clear.

It was seven months into the two-year mission. Steve was lying back on the couch in Tony’s quarters, eyes transfixed on Tony as the latter tinkered with a faulty washroom light on the ground. An old-fashioned sketchbook was in Steve’s left hand, the right making pencil strokes of Tony’s movements, his posture, his attitude. Tony could feel Steve’s eyes on him, warm and safe and enclosed in the sensation.

A beeping sound rang through the room thrice, indicating a comm signal. “Fury to Stark.”

By this point, Tony had crawled his way to Steve at the couch, pressing tender kisses to his jawline, making him sigh. “Stark here,” he called out, mockingly calm. Steve scrunched up his nose.

“We’re arriving at Starbase 2 in about thirty standard minutes.”

Tony nibbled lightly at a squirming Steve’s ear. “Sweet deal, Cap,” he said, and he could almost hear Fury rolling his eye from the desk in his quarters. Steve swatted his arm, giving him an incredulous look.

“...Right,” was Fury’s slightly exasperated reply. “Anyhow. It’s been made resoundingly clear by the crew that they’d like you to be present for the Award Reception tonight on base. I told them you’d think about it. Obviously we’d all understand if you chose not to come.”

“Hmm?” Tony murmured distractedly, slipping his hand below Steve’s trousers while Steve whispered something about being damn unprofessional in between stifling moans of pleasure. “Why wouldn’t I?”

There was a pause on the the other side, one Tony thought to be perhaps slightly too long. He sat up, concentrating, and repeated: “Why wouldn’t I, Captain?”

“I...I thought you’d read the itinerary, Stark.” Fury sighed over the comm line. “Captain Stane is being promoted to Admiral.”

Tony froze in mid-effort to stand. Losing his balance, he fell back to the floor, landing hard on his tailbone. The pain screeched through his body, but it was all Tony could do just to stare straight ahead at the wall, ignoring Steve’s panicked eyes. “...What?”

“Commander,” Fury said slowly, as if talking to a child, “--Every crewman was sent an itinerary concerning our two-day leave. The ceremony is at 1800 hours tonight. I imagine you--”

Before Fury could finish, Tony had already made his way over to the comm controls near the door, disconnecting the line. He let his hand rest on the wall for a moment, leaning forward to place his forehead on his arm for leverage, feeling as though the nausea rising up in his stomach would make him lose his balance again.

“An admiral,” Steve muttered, gingerly making his way over to Tony to lightly touch his arm. “God...What are we gonna do?”

Tony was paralyzed. He blinked once. Twice. Then, with a resolve of which he could not find the origin, he said: “Nothing.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?! ...Tony?”

_\--He’s won he’s won he beat me it’s over they’ll all die the weapons will destroy them all and they’re mine they’re his but it’s mine and he’s won--_

“Tony, sweetheart, c’mon; talk to me…”

_\--can’t let him get too close to me, not Steve, he’s everything, when Stane can’t cover his tracks any longer he’ll pin it all on Stark Industries, pin it on me, it’s too dangerous, have to go, have to--_

Steve’s voice sounded very far away when he told Tony he’d give him some time alone to think. Farther than Tony had ever heard him, and if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in the shards of words in his own mind, it would have worried him.

* * *

Obadiah Stane was promoted to Admiral, and Tony Stark did nothing.

That was when the arguments began.

“Why don’t you fight back, Tony?!” Steve paced the First Officer’s quarters, as he always did when he attempted to rev up Tony’s passions. “Captain-- _Admiral_ Stane; Jesus, I can’t believe I’m sayin’ that--he’s gotten away with one helluva lot, takin’ away the freedom--the _lives_ of entire species! Doesn’t that mean anythin’ to you?”

Tony snorted bitterly from his seat on the couch. “You think I didn’t try to fucking stop it? It’s what got me in trouble in the first place, if you recall.”

“An’ he _knows_ that.” Steve was all riled up, gesticulating wildly. “Can’t you see what’s happenin’ here? We have this conversation time after time. Stane is movin’ higher an’ higher up so it’ll become easier for him to pull rank, an’ harder for you to match him!”

“Match him,” Tony repeated. “Jesus, you’re...you can’t be that stupid, can you, Steve?”

Silence filled the air for a moment, as both men realized the different turn this disagreement was taking. Steve said, “Excuse me?”

Tony clenched his fist, set his jaw. “You heard me. You can’t be so naive to think that this would ever--that I could ever--”

“Naivety and hope are different things, Tony!” Steve cried, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “When you see an injustice happening right in front of you, you can’t just sit back and watch it! You have to _do_ something!”

Tony stood up to level himself with Steve. “Oh, I’m sorry--do you _want_ me kicked so far out of Starfleet I end up in the Delta Quadrant?!”

“This ain’t _about_ you, _Commander_.” Steve stopped in his tracks directly before Tony, eyes afire. “This is about the Federation, about the entire system of planets that make it up, and even beyond! Don’t you care?”

“Honestly?” Tony all but yelled, “Not enough to lose everything. Not enough to lose _you_.”

Steve shook his head. Anger faded into sheer disappointment. All Tony could do was watch, numb, as the other began to pick up various traces of his belongings scattered throughout Tony’s quarters. Before he exited the room, Steve muttered, “Maybe you already have.”

The cabin doors were engineered to slide shut. The sound in Tony’s ears was a thunderous slam nonetheless.

* * *

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
Tony. If you don’t answer me I’m gonna have to bust down your doors. Don’t think I won’t.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
You’re only hurting yourself.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
Try to talk to him. Try to talk to ME.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
Tony, please.

 **PADD MESSAGE from POTTS, VIRGINIA (LT)**  
Tony?

* * *

He started showing up to shifts late.

Pepper said (no, shouted) that it was because of the drinking, and what the hell, Tony, this was your shot to prove that you can do this, that Stane can’t beat you.

Tony insisted it wasn’t because of the drinking. He was only up to a bottle a night, anyway. Couldn’t hold a candle to the bout of his late twenties. He was fine. Or so he attempted to convince himself. Convincing others was harder. The night terrors reached a point where their intensity left Tony shaking violently into the early hours of the morning, tearing at the bedcovers and calling out the name of the one person he needed most who no longer shared them.

“This is the last straw, Commander,” Fury said, “You blow this away mission, and you’re done, and I’m assigning you to permanent medical leave with Dr. Banner’s approval.”

“But Captain--”

“Don’t. Don’t test me.” There was something very much akin to pity in Fury’s expression, and it was worse than any words the Captain could have ever thrown Tony’s way.

* * *

Steve was part of the landing party.

Tony wondered idly if this was some kind of cruel joke on Fury’s part. Had he left Tony in charge (though Fury didn’t leave Stark in charge of much of anything these days), a mistake as monumental as this one would not have occurred. But Steve was there all the same, as part of the security team.

Ty’lixca II was a rocky planet in the Alpha quadrant that had, over the last half century, undergone a number of atmospheric adaptations, which, in turn, had led to the growth of new species. The _Quinjet_ was supposed to be collecting mineral samples with the science officers who would report on each. Tony was in charge of the legal contract which allowed the crew of the _Quinjet_ to represent Starfleet’s exploratory and scientific interests on the planet, should any Ty’lixcian authorities question their presence. An easy enough task.

Every so often Tony would catch Steve’s eyes before one of them turned away. Each time it happened, Tony felt sicker and sicker to his stomach.

“Sir?” Lieutenant Daryn piped up from somewhere behind him after a while, “Did Captain Fury mention another ship orbiting here? Our sensors didn’t detect anything.”

Tony whipped around, frowning, holding up his tricorder. “Negative, Lieutenant. There’s just supposed to be--” He paused, squinting at the readings. Sure enough, the device registered half a dozen other life forms a mile or so away.

An ensign pointed beyond Tony. “Maybe the Captain sent down some more crewmen, sir? They don’t appear to be locals.” Tony followed the direction of her fingers. From what Tony could make out, it was a group in Starfleet attire. But the Captain would have communicated sending others down, and would they not have come from the fixed beaming point, assuming the ship’s coordinates were the same…?

“Those…” Tony cocked his head to the side, motioning for the others to stand back as he took a few steps closer to take a curious look. “Those aren’t our men--”

The last thing he heard was a familiar Southern voice shouting, “Cover!” In what seemed like a fraction of a moment, the entire party dispersed, covered either by a security officer or a nearby boulder. The sharp sounds of the exchange of weapon hits filled Tony’s ears, and when he whipped his head to and fro, dodging hits, he realized the offenders weren’t coming any closer, nor were they taking cover of their own.

The fuzzy cry of, “Transporter capabilities down!” buzzed through everyone’s comms.

Tony quickly glanced at two science officers huddled behind a rock--they had not been hit, which of course was fortunate, but it seemed as though as soon as they had reached cover, the enemy ceased to attack in their direction.

A grim understanding overtook Tony. He signaled wildly for the others to stay put as he pushed forward, despite Fury screeching through his communicator to “take some goddamn cover, Stark, now!”

No. He had to keep moving. Because Tony had studied his fair share of tactical warfare at the Academy, learned from the various Captains under which he had served. These people--whoever they were--had been targeting Tony all along.

“Stay back,” he called behind him, “Hold your position until the _Quinjet_ gets their beaming back up and can grab your coordinates.”

“But Commander!” an officer shouted, “You can’t--”

“That’s an order.”

The others were out of danger, he thought hazily, as long as they weren’t next to him. He could keep them safe. He couldn’t keep species on hundreds of planets from dying because of prototypes he helped create. But if he could just save this group of officers, of lieutenants, of _kids_ …

He continued forward, phaser beams dancing around, circumventing his body as he moved. “You want me?” he called out, holding his phaser in front of him. “All you had to do was ask.”

When the shot hit, he couldn’t register anything but Steve’s yell of his name--not of ‘Commander’ or ‘Stark’, but a broken cry of: “Tony!”

He didn’t remember falling to the ground. He couldn’t recall anything beyond the searing agony ripping through his chest, and for what seemed like years, it was all that remained. It made up everything Tony was. Uncontrollable pain--

Distantly, he felt himself being hoisted up ever so slightly, and he weakly let his head loll to the side across...across knobby knees. He heard, muffled, the familiar rumble of Steve’s voice as he yelled something in a much more authoritative voice than he should be comfortable with as an ensign. That was always Steve, though, Tony thought. Going against the grain if it was worth it.

Tony forced his eyes open. The light of Ty’lixca II’s three suns danced around the sharp features of the face above him. He half-thought that if he died, now, he would be all right seeing only this in the end. He tried to reach up, touch the other’s face, but his hand fell limp to the dirt ground.

“You’d think…” he murmured dryly, “With twenty years in Starfleet behind me I’d know what ‘cover’ means, right?”

The confidence that normally decorated Steve’s face had drained from him entirely. It was the rawest Tony had ever seen him. “It was my job to protect you, Tone,” he whispered thickly, “I’m so sorry. I--”

“Why are you even apologizing right now?” Tony interrupted, feeling himself getting lightheaded. He found the crystal brightness of Steve’s eyes, held them, let them ground him. “Why is that even a thing? It’s me, I…” He coughed, tasted copper on his tongue. “I should’ve listened...to you…about everything. I was too scared, but you were right, you always know what’s right even when everything else around you is just...just so fucked up, you just _know_ , because you understand better than anyone what’s important and what’s...”

“Shh...darlin’, no, I shouldn’t have pushed you. Don’t--don’t try to--”

“No. I have--I have to say it. I have to say something.” Slowly, he tried to sit up. The pain in his chest where the blow had struck forced him down again, a mocking demon. He gasped at the strain, letting his head fall back onto Steve’s lap again.

“Tony--”

“Here’s...here’s the thing, okay? I know I’m selfish and stupid.” He coughed again, just around Steve’s mutter of, “no shit.”

“But. I also know that I really, really fucking love you.” He let out a shaky breath, blinking heavily, honesty pouring from him as rapidly as his consciousness. “I’ve never fallen this fast or this hard for anyone. I knew it the--the fucking millisecond after I met you. It’s probably not normal. I don’t know. Fuck it. I can’t do any of this without you. I love you. I’m sorry, and I love you--”

He didn’t have time for any further theatrics, for Steve was kissing him, bent over him and stroking his hair and kissing him as they were beamed back up to the ship. For the first time in a while, despite his physical make-up dissolving at the seams, Tony felt whole and alive and willing to reappear again so long as Steve was still holding onto him.

* * *

When he woke, he could just make out the hazy outline of Steve Rogers’ lanky frame half-draped over the side of the biobed. He breathed slowly, evenly, his left hand resting just beside Tony’s arm. He was fast asleep in a chair, blonde hair uncharacteristically tousled, dirt on his nose. Tony eyed his surroundings--he was in a private section of medbay, recognizable by the four walls isolating the small room from the rest of the bay.

Tony sighed, turning his attention back to Steve when there was a knock on the doorframe.

“What happened?” he croaked as Dr. Bruce Banner walked towards him.

“Good evening, Commander. How’re we doing here?”

Tony put on his best toothy grin. “Peachy keen, Doc. Gimme some heavy-duty painkillers and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Nice try.” Banner removed his glasses, calm as ever. Tony wondered how many times he would have to hypothetically (or perhaps literally) poke this guy to get him to snap. “To answer your question--Admiral Stane happened.”

Tony blinked, the name, as always, causing bile to rise in his throat. “Run that by me again?”

Banner made his way to one side of Tony’s bed, leaning forward to look at his machine readings.  
“Stane used a cloaking device to get to Ty’lixca undetected, saw our party there with you as the ringleader and thought you were going after him,” he explained. “Captain Fury said the fact that you kept, you know...walking towards Stane’s guys didn’t really help refute that assumption. But it provided enough of a distraction for ours to track him down and disable the cloaking device that blocked our transporters.” He shook his head. “Something like that. It’s all very technical. I just fix the broken bones.”

Well. That all certainly explained the lovely game of Tony the Target he’d just experienced. “Well. A fight was long overdue.” Tony lifted his hands weakly into fists. “Let me at ‘im.”

“Not under my watch, Commander.” Banner raised a knowing eyebrow, then absently pulled up Tony’s holochart before him, making a few notes Tony couldn’t decipher if he tried. “Plus, Captain Fury apprehended him. Starfleet Command is in the know and are getting ready to prosecute--though they’re going to need testimony from you. So I need to get you better.”

Tony took a moment to let Dr. Banner’s words settle. After all this time, he’d won. Just by getting shot in the heart. “Oh, so now they believe me,” he said in a feeble attempt to jest, “Who knew all I had to do was get hit with a phaser?”

“Not ‘all’, Commander. Had you arrived in sickbay a minute later you might have suffered permanent internal damage. Ensign Rogers was quick enough on his feet to grab your comm and shout coordinates to get everyone beamed up before anyone else got seriously hurt.” Banner peered down at Steve, pressing his lips together for a moment. “He’s been here almost four hours. Wouldn’t leave your side.”

Tony followed the doctor’s gaze. Steve twitched slightly in his sleep, his lithe fingers brushing up against the torn fabric of Tony’s uniform briefly. The top of his head was just within Tony’s reach, so he began to gently massage his fingers through Steve’s thin blonde locks. “Yeah,” he acknowledged affectionately.

Dr. Banner cleared his throat. “I’ll, um. Leave you two for a while. I’ll send in Nurse T’Pala to check on you soon.”

Tony barely heard him leave. Steve was here, and Steve was okay, and Tony was (mostly) okay, and that was all his mind could process at the moment. He continued to play with Steve’s hair, grateful to be able to touch him again, wishing he were even closer...

When Steve’s long lashes finally started to flutter, Tony whispered, “Hey.”

Steve lifted his head, a small smile spreading across his face when his eyes met Tony’s. “Hey, yourself.” He eagerly hoisted himself up to sit on the side of the bed, concern etched into his every move--subtlety had never been his forte. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Like I just chugged a quart of Romulan ale,” Tony quipped, closing his eyes wearily. “Which I actually have done, before you ask.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” was Steve’s short reply beside him. In that instant, a brief flash of reality--of everything that they both had gone through in the last 24 hours, and even before, struck him in waves. Sure, Tony had been reckless and ousted Stane in the process, but Steve frankly didn’t owe him anything. Not after he’d proven time and time again how selfish he was--

“...I love you, too.”

Tony’s eyes popped open. “Come again?”

Steve shrugged. “You told me you loved me before,” he said in explanation, as if discussing the latest warp technology, “Unless you were fixin’ to celebrate April Fools’ a tad early, I like to think you meant what you said. I know you were scared, before. I can’t imagine goin’ through what you did with Stane, havin’ to watch your back like that, all the time. Havin’ to live with the fact that he was takin’ what you loved to do and makin’ it into somethin’ awful. But you managed it.”

Tony gestured down at his bandaged body and added, “Barely.” Steve gave him a withering look before continuing:

“You had no idea those were Stane’s men out there. You just held your ground and kept everyone else safe because you knew it was what you had to do. Don’t sound like selfishness to me.” He sucked in a deep breath. “So in case you were wonderin’,” he finished, his face turning bright red, “I love you, too.”

Tony searched Steve’s eyes, which had always been a point of understanding for him, because they were so open, so easy to read. In them now, he searched for pity or even anger motivating him to say such things. But there was a brightness to the azure there that Tony had never seen before. And not for a moment did it betray Steve’s words.

Steve Rogers _loved_ Tony. Loved the selfish, irrational, scared Tony Stark with all he had.

“Oh...well,” Tony said articulately. Took Steve’s hand, kissed it in a casual motion that outwardly negated the swell of unadulterated joy all but bursting from within him. “Good.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, tears freely flowing down his cheeks. “I think it’s real good.”

With the little strength he could muster, Tony brought Steve to him with a playful tug of his hand and kissed him hard on the mouth.

* * *

In the process of recovering, metaphorical pieces began to fall into place. In that time, Tony decided Captain Nicholas J. Fury was a total dick.

“Let me get this straight.” Pacing his Captain’s quarters, wincing every so often at the bandage wrapped tightly around his chest under layers of regulation clothing. He tried to hide the sheer awe he was feeling, to essentially no avail. “You _knew_? You knew Stane was going to be on Ty’lixca II that day and you didn’t think, ‘Oh, maybe this is a thing I should be telling my first officer about’?!”

Fury rolled his eye. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Commander. And watch your mouth. I could still maroon your ass.”

Tony averted his eyes to the ground. “Why didn’t you do that before? Why did you even request my transfer here?”

“Because I believed you.”

Tony stopped in mid-pace, a combination of awe and confusion overtaking him. “...What?”

“I wasn’t sure at first, I’ll admit it,” replied Fury, “but there was something about the case Stane made that just didn’t sit right with me. I brought you on because I wanted to figure it out. Better to surround yourself with people who’re for you than against you.”

Fury fell silent for a moment, letting Stark come to the inevitable conclusion himself.

“So you--you went behind--” _Starfleet’s back_ , Tony wanted to finish aloud. But there wasn’t any need to.

“I joined Starfleet because I believe in its practices and ideals,” Fury went on carefully. He shot Tony a significant look. “But I think you know better than anyone that...some things are worth the risk.”

Tony nodded slowly. “And...Stane...Stane’s plan to make his next stop on Ty’lixca--”

“He mentioned it to me at his promotion gala,” replied Fury, “Becoming Admiral gave him a false sense of security. It was only a matter of time before he slipped up. And it had to be you, Commander. You had to be the one to make him do it.”

Tony barked a syllable of a laugh. “So you used me.”

“No, Stark. You hearin’ me right?” Fury stood up to level with Tony, his expression sober. “All this time you were waiting for Stane to make his move--when he was waiting for you to make yours. He knows you have guts. You just needed a bit of motivation to get you in the right place at the right time.” He looked down, absently shuffled some paperwork. “I am submitting myself for disciplinary action once we get to base. Keeping you out of the loop may have been our best shot against Stane, but it wasn’t exactly protocol.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, it was a pretty jerk move, Captain,” he half-joked, and Fury quirked an eyebrow in silent amusement. The fact was, though, Tony wasn’t about to let anyone else get hurt because his mistakes with Stane. “But what about this situation is within protocol, anyway? Sometimes you just gotta fight fire with fire. You shouldn’t have to be thrown under the proverbial bus for that. As far as Starfleet’s concerned...this was my plan all along, too.”

Fury was silent for a moment, either in contemplation or something very close to respect for Tony, which was a rarity Tony was going to lap up as fast as he could. “You’re not too shabby, Commander Stark.”

“Yeah, well thanks,” Tony replied, “For, um. For believing me.” _For being on my side when no one else was_ , he added silently, hoping the appreciation was self-evident. Tony had never been good with feelings, and it was clear Fury wanted no part in expressing any, either.

The Captain sat back in his chair. “For a moment there, I wasn’t sure if I’d made a mistake.”

“Gee, thank you, Captain. Much appreciated--”

“--But I saw it in the first week, you know. The way you interacted with the crew,” Fury interjected. “They respond to you well. For all your attempts to appear like you’re just gettin’ by to get by, you’re one of the most genuine men I’ve ever come across at Starfleet. And lucky for you, a certain Ensign has your back.”

“Oh. Um.” Tony scratched the back of his head. “So you know about that, huh?”

Fury pursed his lips. “You aren’t as sly as you think you are, Stark.”

“Right.” Tony wanted to say something awesome and profound in return for Fury’s compliments (however backhanded they appeared to be), but came up with nothing. So instead, he decided to bring up a question which he had been pondering for a very long time. “Captain Fury?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“...What’s under the eyepatch?”

“Get out of my quarters.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Commander Anthony Stark walked toward Starbase Seven’s massive courtroom entrance with Pepper Potts--now Lieutenant Commander--on his arm.

“Now, remember,” Pepper coached, “there’s literally piles of evidence against Stane at this point. That one slip-up of his six months ago--”

“--I’m aware of it, Pepper, considering it starred Yours Truly--”

“--launched a huge investigation. All the stuff you tried to dig up on him before? It’s out in the open now. You’ve got this.” Pepper paused, tugging on Tony’s hand. She cupped his face in the other, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Your dad would be really proud,” she said softly.

Tony gave her a small grin. “Don’t get all wishy-washy on me now, Potts. I got things to do.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She patted his bottom teasingly before starting off, calling, “I’ll be at a bench in the back.”

But Tony had already turned his attention toward the skinny guy in the hall, leaning against the doorframe to the waiting room with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Steve Rogers donned his recreational Starfleet uniform, and, damn, did it do wonders for him.

Frankly, Steve could have been wearing a paper bag and Tony would have found him beautiful in it.

“Christ,” he muttered at his own sickly-sweet musings as he made his way over to Steve, “I’m done for.”

“What was that?” Steve nodded to him, and Tony offered no reply but a long, wet kiss to his lips. “Mmm...you taste like...Ferengi bubble gum?”

“You know me too well.”

Steve straightened Tony’s collar, smoothed down his jacket. “You ready?”

Tony shrugged. “I mean, as long as I accept that I’ll probably be in the same mess I started in, only this time I’m accusing an _Admiral_ of treason.” He tried not to let his voice shake and betray his calm exterior.

But Steve knew him too well for that. He shook his head in disagreement, cupping the back of Tony’s neck and brushing his lips against the other’s ear. “He’s a coward,” he whispered resolutely. “You were always stronger than him.”

“Nah. I’m just learning from the best.” Tony slipped an arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him close. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Steve grinned. “Then together, I reckon that makes us superhuman.”

Tony tilted his head, considered, nodded. “I can deal with that.” He pulled away slightly, holding out his arm.

They walked through the sliding doors hand in hand, and Tony, despite having spent over half his life in outer space, had never felt so magnificently grounded.

Steve squeezed his hand, and Tony squeezed back. A promise, made under thousands of constellations, and with hope placed in a new beginning.

 

  
_I wish I knew everything there is to know about you_

_I want you to see just exactly what you mean to me_

_And you, you think you know me_

_I guarantee there’s a lot more to see_

_And you, you don’t believe it’s true_

_That if I’m dreamin’, then I’m dreamin’ of you_

\-- Tom Felton, “Under Stars”


End file.
